Sax Rohmer - THE DEVIL DOCTOR

alike from Charing Cross to Pagoda Road."

He rested his hand on my shoulder for a moment; I am ashamed to

confess that I was trembling; then, clenching my teeth with that

mechanical physical effort which often accompanies a mental one, I

swallowed the bitter draught of Nayland Smith's philosophy. He was

raising himself, to peer, cautiously, over the top of the door. I did

likewise.

The window from which the girl had looked was nearly on a level with

our eyes, and as I raised my head above the woodwork, I quite

distinctly saw her go out of the room. The door, as she opened it,

admitted a dull light, against which her figure showed silhouetted for

a moment. Then the door was reclosed.

"We must risk the other windows," rapped Smith.

Before I had grasped the nature of his plan, he was over and had

dropped almost noiselessly upon the casks outside. Again I followed

his lead.

"You are not going to attempt anything, single-handed--against _him_?"

I asked.

"Petrie--Eltham is in that house. He has been brought here to be put

to the question, in the mediæval, and Chinese, sense! Is there time to

summon assistance?"

I shuddered. This had been in my mind, certainly, but so expressed it

was definitely horrible--revolting, yet stimulating.

"You have the pistol," added Smith; "follow closely, and quietly."

He walked across the tops of the casks and leapt down, pointing to

that nearest to the closed door of the house. I helped him place it

under the open window. A second we set beside it, and, not without

some noise, got a third on top.

Smith mounted.

His jaw muscles were very prominent and his eyes shone like steel; but

he was as cool as though he were about to enter a theatre and not the

den of the most stupendous genius who ever worked for evil. I would

forgive any man who, knowing Dr. Fu-Manchu, feared him; I feared him

myself--feared him as one fears a scorpion; but when Nayland Smith

hauled himself up on to the wooden ledge above the door and swung

thence into the darkened room, I followed and was in close upon his

heels. But I admired him, for he had every ampère of his

self-possession in hand; my own case was different.

He spoke close to my ear.

"Is your hand steady? We may have to shoot."

I thought of Kâramanèh, of lovely dark-eyed Kâramanèh, whom this

wonderful, evil product of secret China had stolen from me--for so I

now adjudged it.

"Rely upon me!" I said grimly. "I--"

The words ceased--frozen on my tongue.

There are things that one seeks to forget, but it is my lot often to

remember the sound which at that moment literally struck me rigid with

horror. Yet it was only a groan; but, merciful God! I pray that it may

never be my lot to listen to such a groan again.

Smith drew a sibilant breath.

"It's Eltham!" he whispered hoarsely, "they're torturing--"

"No, no!" screamed a woman's voice--a voice that thrilled me anew,

but with another emotion. "Not that, not--"

I distinctly heard the sound of a blow. Followed a sort of vague

scuffling. A door somewhere at the back of the house opened--and shut

again. Some one was coming along the passage towards us!

"Stand back!" Smith's voice was low, but perfectly steady. "Leave it

to me!"

Nearer came the footsteps and nearer. I could hear suppressed sobs.

The door opened, admitting again the faint light--and Kâramanèh came

in. The place was quite unfurnished, offering no possibility of

hiding; but to hide was unnecessary.

Her slim figure had not crossed the threshold ere Smith had his arm

about the girl's waist and one hand clapped to her mouth. A stifled

gasp she uttered, and he lifted her into the room.

"Shut the door, Petrie," he directed.

I stepped forward and closed the door. A faint perfume stole to my

nostrils--a vague, elusive breath of the East, reminiscent of strange

days that, now, seemed to belong to a remote past. Kâramanèh! that

faint, indefinable perfume was part of her dainty personality; it may

appear absurd--impossible--but many and many a time I had dreamt of

it.

"In my breast pocket," rapped Smith; "the light."

I bent over the girl as he held her. She was quite still, but I could

have wished that I had had more certain mastery of myself. I took the

torch from Smith's pocket and, mechanically, directed it upon the

captive.

She was dressed very plainly, wearing a simple blue skirt, and white

blouse. It was easy to divine that it was she whom Eltham had mistaken

for a French maid. A brooch set with a ruby was pinned at the point

where the blouse opened--gleaming fierily and harshly against the soft

skin. Her face was pale and her eyes wide with fear.

"There is some cord in my right-hand pocket," said Smith. "I came

provided. Tie her wrists."

I obeyed him, silently. The girl offered no resistance, but I think I

never essayed a less congenial task than that of binding her white

wrists. The jewelled fingers lay quite listlessly in my own.

"Make a good job of it!" rapped Smith significantly.

A flush rose to my cheeks, for I knew well enough what he meant.

"She is fastened," I said, and I turned the ray of the torch upon her

again.

Smith removed his hand from her mouth but did not relax his grip of

her. She looked up at me with eyes in which I could have sworn there

was no recognition. But a flush momentarily swept over her face, and

left it pale again.

"We shall have to--gag her--"

"Smith, I can't do it!"

The girl's eyes filled with tears and she looked up at my companion

pitifully.

"Please don't be cruel to me," she whispered, with that soft accent

which always played havoc with my composure. "Every one--every one--is

cruel to me. I will promise--indeed I will swear, to be quiet. Oh,

believe me, if you can save him I will do nothing to hinder you." Her

beautiful head drooped. "Have some pity for me as well."

"Kâramanèh," I said, "we would have believed you once. We cannot now."

She started violently.

"You know my name!" Her voice was barely audible. "Yet I have never

seen you in my life--"

"See if the door locks," interrupted Smith harshly.

Dazed by the apparent sincerity in the voice of our lovely

captive--vacant from wonder of it all--I opened the door, felt for,

and found, a key.

We left Kâramanèh crouching against the wall; her great eyes were

turned towards me fascinatedly. Smith locked the door with much care.

We began a tip-toed progress along the dimly-lighted passage.

From beneath a door on the left, and near the end, a brighter light

shone. Beyond that again was another door. A voice was speaking in the

lighted room; yet I could have sworn that Kâramanèh had come, not from

there but from the room beyond--from the far end of the passage.

But the voice!--who, having once heard it, could ever mistake that

singular voice, alternately guttural and sibilant.

Dr. Fu-Manchu was speaking!

"I have asked you," came with ever-increasing clearness (Smith had

begun to turn the knob), "to reveal to me the name of your

correspondent in Nan-Yang. I have suggested that he may be the

Mandarin Yen-Sun-Yat, but you have declined to confirm me. Yet I know"

(Smith had the door open a good three inches and was peering in) "that

some official, some high official, is a traitor. Am I to resort again

to _the question_ to learn his name?"

Ice seemed to enter my veins at the unseen inquisitor's intonation of